


Just Dance

by Archetype_ElectraHeart



Series: And We Danced... [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archetype_ElectraHeart/pseuds/Archetype_ElectraHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to The Wreckoning.</p>
<p>Renly decides to play matchmaker; Jaime and Brienne finally dance together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Dance

“I really think Brienne needs to get laid.” Renly was already slurring his words slightly and Loras was not looking forward to when his boyfriend was going to reach his weepy-drunk stage in the near future.

“Do _you_ think Brienne needs to get laid or does Brienne actually _want_ to get laid? There is a difference, you know.”

Renly waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the sexual tension between her and Lannister. You could cut the air with a spoon.”

“Knife, Renly. ‘You could cut the air with a knife.’ And the last time I saw the two of them they were having a shouting match over which cabinet the sugar belonged in. I’m not sure they even _like_ each other.”

Renly’s grin turned mischievous. “I know. Can you imagine the hot angry sex those two could have if they would just let go?”

“Renly.” Loras sounded like a parent trying to reign in a small child. 

Renly suddenly straightened, nearly knocking over his mojito as he bumped the table. “I think I have an idea!”

Loras groaned and took a large gulp of his rum and coke. Renly’s convoluted match-making schemes were nothing new, but there was no way Loras going to risk Brienne’s wrath by joining him this time.

 

*****

 

Brienne walked out of the bathroom already annoyed. She needed the extra money she would get from assisting in Renly’s ballroom class, but it didn’t mean she liked having to dig out her old practice skirt and heels from her closet.

She hadn’t made it six feet down the hall when she bumped into Jaime Lannister, who was just exiting the men’s bathroom in black pants and a burgundy button-down shirt. And men’s ballroom dancing shoes. 

_Renly, I swear on all the gods…_ “What are you still doing here, Lannister?”

It seemed he was coming to the same conclusion as her. “Renly asked me to help out in his ballroom class. You too?”

“I need the money. Why are _you_ doing it?” She couldn’t help but be suspicious that somehow he and Renly were in on this little trick together.

He shrugged. “Same. Dad’s disowned me again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, he gets in these moods every few months and decides to cut me off for a while. Seems not to realize that being an asshole doesn’t actually make me more cooperative.”

Brienne’s father had a tendency to slip twenties into her wallet when she wasn’t paying attention. 

“Wait a second, are you wearing an actual _skirt_?”

She glared at him, any pity gone. “Of course I’m wearing a skirt. It’s fucking ballroom, you think I don’t know regulations?”

“Now there’s the angry Amazon I know and love!” He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder, dragging her down the hall to Renly’s studio. She elbowed him in the stomach when he wouldn’t let go.

 

*****

 

“Alright, so to begin I’m going to ask Jaime and Brienne to demonstrate the traditional ballroom hold separately, so you can see what that looks like from all angles.” 

Brienne raised her arms, lifting her elbow to get a proper top line, and thought of all the ways she was going to get back at Renly for his latest match-making scheme as he explained the components of her position to the class. He moved on to do the same with Jaime, touching him a little more than was probably necessary and Brienne fought back a smile at Jaime’s long-suffering expression. 

“Now then, if you two will actually get in position as though you were going to dance…”

She and Jaime turned to face each other, and she barely resisted the urge to smack his overly smug grin off his face. She did dig her fingernails into his shoulder when he put his hand low on her waist, giving him a small nod when he corrected to just beneath her shoulder blade. She stared pointedly at a spot on the wall just past Jaime’s ear as Renly prattled on and coached his class through their own form.

“Now then, one of the most important things to remember about the hold for a traditional waltz is that you should be maintaining body contact with your partner the entire time— except if you spin out or go into a lift, of course, but we’ll be learning that later. Now these two don’t like each other very much, so to help them out…”

Brienne was jerked back into the present at the feel of Renly wrapping something around her waist. When she tried to ease back to look down she realized —with a small degree of panic— that she couldn’t move backwards. 

Renly had actually taped her and Jaime together. There was duct tape around both of their waists, leaving a bare half an inch between their torsos when they tried to pull apart. Brienne could actually feel Jaime’s breathing, and her small breasts were flush against his pecs. She knew that her face was bright red, but was surprised to see that instead of a smarmy smile, Jaime looked about as panicked as she felt. 

“Now then, the longer you practice moving in the hold, the more natural it will feel to you.” _The longer you leave me taped to Jaime Lannister the more excruciating the punishment I plan for you, Renly Baratheon._ “Let’s add in the basic waltz step.”

Jaime started to lead her across the room. “Do you think we can demand an added fee for involuntary bondage?”

“What, like it’s hazard pay?”

“Yeah, it’s dangerous to be taped to you with all your pent up anger and frustration.”

“You do realize how easy it would be for me to repeatedly step on your feet in this position, right?”

“You’re just proving my point.”

“Well I’m trapped here listening to you snark and insult me—“ He squeezed her in a ticklish spot just above her waist and she purposefully stomped on his toes in retaliation. “Don’t make me add sexual harassment to the list, Lannister.”

“Now remember everyone, the waltz is on a three count, so on my go— 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3; glide…”

“You know most women would be flattered if I tried to sexually harass them.”

“I guess I’m not most women.”

His gave her a wicked smile. “That’s true. I don’t know any other women who angry-flirt with me.”

“I do not flirt with you!”

“Right, and you aren’t enjoying this either.”

She looked him square in the eye. “As a matter of fact, I fucking hate the waltz.”

Jaime laughed. “I wasn’t referring to the _waltz_ , Tarth.”

 

******

 

Brienne was half-way through her class with the under-12 age group when they started to hear cursing and yelling from the next studio over, and while Brienne wasn’t phased by the steady stream of curses floating through the wall, more than a few of her students looked frightened.

Little Shireen Baratheon piped up from the second row. “Miss Brienne, I think someone’s angry with Mr. Jaime.” Nods all around.

_Someone is always angry with Mr. Jaime, kid. Usually me._ But Stannis Baratheon was exactly the kind of parent who would make their lives hell if he found out his little princess was being exposed to profanity, so she had to do something.

“Alright, you guys stay here and practice on your own while I go check on Mr. Jaime. I’m sure everything is fine, but don’t leave this studio unless I come get you. Understand?” It was probably overkill, but she was used to the Flea Bottom YMCA, where actual brawls were a not infrequent occurrence.

Brienne could hear Jaime as she entered the corridor: “Cersei, you can’t just barge into where I work and yell at me because Daddy Dearest is mad. It’s my problem, and I’m dealing with it. So leave.”

“Jaime, you can’t be a fucking dance instructor forever. Just listen to father. If you start working at the office even part-time he’ll probably give you back the credit card, if not the car.”

Brienne cleared her throat as she entered the room, drawing Cersei and Jaime’s attention. She noticed the other woman’s beauty with a disinterested glance. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got little kids in the next room and you’re freaking them out with all your screeching. So, pipe the fuck down or leave.”

Cersei prowled forward on her heels, a sneer marring her face. “Who the hell are you? Jaime’s new guard dog?” There was a loaded pause as Cersei gave her a disdainful once-over.

Brienne was unimpressed, raised a single eyebrow. “Woof.”

Cersei seemed taken-aback, and then frustrated. “You know what? Fine. I hope you enjoy poverty, Jaime. Don’t call me when you can’t afford to eat.” She stormed out, heels clacking down the hallway.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that, I know she’s kind of a bitch…”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I grew up in Flea Bottom. Our pigeons are more menacing than that blonde twig. I’ll see you at rehearsal tonight.”

She walked back into her own studio, where the kids had clearly been gossiping more than dancing in her absence. “Alright everybody, I scared away the crazy woman, so you’re safe.”

“But _how_ did you scare her away?” Elia Martell asked as she hopped from foot to tiny foot. “Did you get in a fight?” Elia watched a lot of television that Brienne didn’t think was terribly age appropriate for a seven year old.

“No, I did not _fight_ her, Elia. If someone is being mean to you, the best way to make them stop is to show them that you are not afraid of them.”

Edric Storm cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “But what if you _are_ afraid of them?”

Brienne ruffled his hair affectionately. “Fake it ’til you make it, kid. The longer you pretend you aren’t afraid, the less afraid you’ll be.”

 

*******

 

Renly had decided that Jaime and Brienne needed to do one full choreographed dance for his ballroom class, as a sort of exhibition piece. Brienne was grateful that he had avoided the waltz (she really did hate it) and Jaime was grateful that he had avoided the jive (he couldn’t fake that kind of intense happiness for a full three minutes; it just wasn’t natural). They had ended up with the paso doble, because Renly had claimed it would make the best use of their aggression and sexual chemistry. Brienne had wanted to punch him in his smug face for that comment, because the last thing Jaime’s ego needed was a further boost.

Renly’s presence had left their movements awkward and cursory for the first few rehearsals. They barely touched each other, and movements that should have been firm and aggressive were tentative, as though they were afraid to break one another.

At the end of their third rehearsal, Renly fell into a folding chair with his face in his hands. “I feel like I’m suddenly working with a couple of twelve year old virgins. You two” he pointed at them aggressively, “need to stop being so fucking polite to one another all of a sudden.”

 

 

When Jaime and Brienne walked into the studio that night, there was a note taped to the mirror from Renly.

_I have a date with Loras for his birthday tonight. Hoping you two are better without an awkward third wheel around. If you aren’t better next week my methods will become devious and non-traditional._

_I MEAN IT._

_Renly_

_PS: I kept that roll of tape, and don’t think I will hesitate to use it._

 

“Do you think he and Loras are really into bondage? Because I’m sensing a tape fetish.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that neither of us actually want to know the answer to that question.”

Jaime nodded solemnly. “You have a point.”

Brienne looked around and dropped her backpack in a corner, adjusting the waistband of her practice skirt. “Let’s just go ahead and run it with the music.”

“As my lady commands.” She glared at his sarcastic tone, but he queued up the music and they both got in position. 

Brienne snapped when Jaime nearly dropped her because his grip wasn’t tight enough. “For fuck’s sake, Jaime, I’m not made of glass— you aren’t going to break me. But if you drop me on my head because you’re too afraid to—“

“I was worried about hurting you!” He held out one of her arms for inspection and tugged up her skirt to point out a mottled green bruise on the side of her thigh. “You have bruises all over you already.”

She smacked his hands away. “I’m pale and I bruise easily, that doesn’t mean I’m delicate. I need to trust that you aren’t going to drop me and give me a concussion because you’re afraid that I might get a bruise.”

“So what, now you don’t trust me?”

“If I didn’t trust you, I would have told Renly to fuck off weeks ago after he pulled that stunt with the tape. Now stop thinking so much and just _dance_. Ok?”

They were both still charged from their argument when they started dancing again. She could sense that he was hurt and frustrated at the idea that she might not trust him. She was furious that he thought she was weak and needed to be coddled. This time his grip was punishingly firm, but she could tell that their movements were crisper, their turns sharper, that they were doing better than they had in weeks. And as the dance went on their mutual anger was replaced by the kind of satisfaction that came when the steps flowed out of you like water and you felt perfectly in sync with not just the music but also your partner, in a way that almost never happened. 

 

 

The choreography ends with her in his arms, face millimeters from his— closer than it has been any other time they have practiced— and she can feel his hand splayed on the bare skin of her back and she suddenly wonders if it was such a good idea to wear only a sports bra and her practice skirt. Neither of them try to move, seemingly startled by their own closeness, by the fact that they are basically breathing into each other’s mouth. She has just realized that his eyes have rather large flecks of gold amongst the green when he leans in to press his lips to hers. Surprisingly, she doesn’t push him off or stomp on his toes. They are alone in the studio, the whole building is empty at this time of night, and she knows somehow that this is not a joke or a bet and that no one is going to come in and ruin whatever this is. His other hand has moved to her hip, and her hands are tangled in his hair, and she allows him to walk her backwards until she is against the wall and he is pressing into her. They are in sync still, and she knows somehow as soon as he grips her hips to lift up and wrap her legs around his waist, to steady herself with open palms on his shoulders as he kisses and nips at her neck, little sighs falling from her mouth.

He rests his forehead against hers as they both catch their breath. “I’m permanently disinviting Renly from all our rehearsals in the future.”

“Why is that?”

He pulled back and smiled at her. “Because I fully intend to kiss you senseless at the end of every one. Maybe some in the middle as well.”

She pretends to think about it, head tilted to one side, a smile slowly creeping onto her face. “I think I could live with that.”

His smile is wide and true. “Good.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Since so many of you were sweet enough to request a sequel, I really wanted to make it happen. Inspiration struck when I was watching So You Think You Can Dance and one of the choreographers taped her dancers together to help them learn the waltz.
> 
> I had a lot of difficulty figuring out how to end this (which you may have noticed because of that random tense change), but I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
